Breaking Karma
by Arturro-no-kurai
Summary: Set two years before Mokkania's rebellion in the labyrinth. A caricature of a day in the life of that most sad and lonely of Bantorra's characters.


Disclaimer: I own and claim no copyrights to Bantorra Library or any of my own inventions herein.

The man awoke from his troubled sleep, having already tossed and turned through the memories and nightmares of the war from two years ago. Death-screams, the shock of red-handed murder still echoed dimly in his ear. Invariably, too, the hellish dreamscapes would bleed into his waking thoughts; drowning out the cries of his heart, the part of him that still wanted to go on.

But after running from his heart, it was only a little while before the remainder of his mind attenuated too. Coupling that with the quotidian demands of living was too much even for an obdurate man like Mokkania Fluru. Deleterious sayings, riddles, and wisdoms became his bread and butter as he denigrated his own mouth when he partook of them. Who else should impugn him? He's already there. Right there on the edge of self-collapse, the line between salubrious living and the void. And so he still existed, but did not live.

His few friends, especially Ireiea Kitty, always encouraged him to be more open and talk more often. This meant not only to themselves: it was needful to break with the Past and find a new future. And in a matter of such infinite importance, Mokkania had sealed himself under Bantorra Library these past two years, reflecting on his thoughts and sins. Thus he had became an inchoate being; he not only walked the walls of his chamber, but he also began talking in circumlocution too; believing and not believing were in his words. He was an apostate damned and obsequious to his own hell. A Hell he called, "Truth," or sometimes, "Destiny."

The tension of his existing, remembering life and knowing the palpable touch of death, was at best a conundrum and riddle to those few who still visited him: Before deciding to go anywhere outside his door, he would pace back and forth from one wall to the other. It was as if there was no greater urgency that wasn't waiting in the world outside his door. Quite sadly, his truest life beckoned out from the backdoor of memory.

During the last war, Mokkania had used the power of his Magick Rite to summon a horde of flesh-devouring ants and with these, an entire army of the Guinbec Empire vanished amidst blood and bones. The acclaim, the horrifying splendor, and the accolades of his victory as an Armed Librarian had been exceedingly great. In despite of greatness, however, Mokkania could only see rows and towers of corpses spread high across the field of 'victory.' In his memories, and in his heart, he couldn't reconcile the images of mass-slaughter with any idea pertaining to the word. _"His _victory, _His_ power!" the Armed Librarians and their enemies had all exclaimed. To him, the sounds of acclaim and infamy sounded equally as if from the thud of a Judge's gavel, bringing the Court of Conscience forever to tyrannize his sanity: 'cause his mother wouldn't have approved.

Restless and disturbed, Mokkania got out of bed, and walking over to the left hand wall brought the rising emotional tide no lower; memories of the scent of rotting flesh and gunpowder followed as if from over his shoulder. So he walked over to the rightmost wall, and found there more of the same. Trying to escape from them at that point too, Mokkania walked back the way he'd come. And so the lack of tangible refuge would proceed continuously on, thus initiating one of the great cycles of his life: Going back and forth.

As he again came to the right hand wall, Mokkania matched the circumlocution of his legs with those of his mind; the scenes of war and death trickled with the irony of praise, and onto these things were superimposed his mother's commandment. Long ago, she had said to him, "That people, like the ants, should work together and help one another shoulder burdens. Hurting and bullying people is wrong." Thus the words of Renas Fluru: If her words had been meant as a moral lesson for her child, they sounded more like prophetic self-condemnation to the man remembering them now.

From childhood to adulthood, he'd gone from being a good boy to a mass murderer. Perhaps a murderer not unlike the mystery assailant who'd killed his mother, he often wondered.

Even though he'd officially acted as a soldier during the war, Mokkania would not release himself from the self-imposed label of 'murderer.' You could say he didn't believe in Karma so much as he believed in going round in circles.

The latest of which circuits made him feel dizzied and intolerant of seeing the same refuse at either end of the walls. Nothing new was transpiring from his self-disgust and anxiety either. "The time has come earlier than usual," he thought, "to leave this chamber for some other scenery or possibility of escape."

Upon shutting the chamber's door behind him, he proceeded down the musty corridors of Bantorra's labyrinth.

All along his path, the surrounding walls had shelves cut into them, and upon these were piled countless books. Each of which contained a dead soul and the memories of a dead person. But Mokkania had a surplus of memory too, and being in haste to forget he overlooked them; looking instead straight down the corridor where the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard. He neither halted nor slowed his advance, not caring whether a Guardian Beast or an Armed Librarian crossed his path.

There was soon however an echo of voices arguing from around the bend at the next intersection of corridors. As Mokkania and the unknown party drew closer together, so too did the volume of the voices' disagreement. "Like sounds that humans would make," Mokkania silently reflected, a heavy bitterness pluming that realization down to its depths.

Following a new whim, he halted, certain the approaching Librarians hadn't yet heard his footsteps as he had heard theirs, seeing that the noise of their argument would've precluded the possibility.

It wasn't fear or the advantage of surprise that made him halt there. It was rather the hope that the approaching party would continue down their present corridor without ever noticing Mokkania standing within the side passage connected to it. He didn't want the annoyance. Nonetheless, as the voices drew nearer their words became ever more distinct:

"…Noloty! How many years have you been apprentice? I shouldn't have had to say anything about battle preparations. Especially since this lowest level has all the more powerful Guardians…" spake a strong male voice.

"Yes! I know that! And yet I feel so bad every time we fight them. We are as much the Guardians of the under-library as they are. Why do we have to kill them?" argued a feminine voice, the voice of the one called Noloty.

The man accompanying her gave a great chortle at that, but after a moment's pause, the man answered her, the natural strength of his voice becoming gentler and more soothing in response to the merciful nature of such a question, "You well know these Guardians don't die when we slay them. They just simply de-materialize and then eventually reconstruct their own bodies. Besides they're the ones who attack us-it's not like there's anything else we can do about it."

"Yeah, I know. But it feels wrong somehow," Noloty answered as she and the unknown man passed the corner, affording Mokkania a momentary side view of themselves before turning and entering upon the passage, confronting Mokkania face to face.

The woman called Noloty was but scantily clad in a pair of tight-fitting, polyester shorts, and a tank-top that showed nothing but stomach below the breastbone and nothing but cleavage below the neck, but the green-haired man accompanying her was clad more fully in an Armed Librarian's uniform, an ornate and somber affair with stately purple threads and wide-flaring sleeves around the wrist, and what looked to be a gold cravat descending from the neck-line. Mokkania recognized the man as Volken Macmani, a young but nonetheless distinguished warrior.

As the companions considered the lone man, Noloty's eyes widened to a point of near terror in her recognition of the living legend who had massacred thousands. Volken's shock was more the understated of the two, as he merely raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips down to a crease of flesh.

Mokkania, in mock horror, briefly glanced downward in consideration of his own attire; a casual grey suit, white undershirt, and a dark tie, all of which were but slightly wrinkled considering he'd slept a whole night in them. For that reason he was relieved to feel neither under or overdressed by any moderate degree.

"Clearly," he thought to himself, "It is my reputation for madness that precedes us down to the bowels of Bantorra." That thought, strange as it as it was, was being mirrored on the two companions' surprised faces.

Unwilling and unable to reach past his own anxieties and disappointments, Mokkania would have only stood there passively, showing no emotions while his guests struggled with themselves to end the awkwardness of their own fear, but then he saw something: It was the candied head of a lollipop, dressed in cellophane wrapping, jutting ponderously out from a pocket in Noloty's too-tight shorts.

Mokkania with a gesture of his hand, and a loud, "Ahem!" attempted a non-verbal indication of what he wanted from her. Noloty, not understanding, merely gaped blankly as if into the sun, caught amidst confusion and a fear of upsetting the volatile man.

Again he nonetheless gestured pointedly to the lollipop, and losing again the battle of silence, succumbs to the usefulness of words:

"May I?" he says, pointing a finger inclined in the direction of the candy.

"I..uhh've course!" Noloty ungracefully stammered, just as if full comprehension of the man's surprising request came only by mid-sentence. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed the lollipop by the head of it, and not wishing to get too close to the man, sent it spiraling toward Mokkania with a flick of the wrist.

Deftly, he caught it. A bare second later, the cellophane wrapper rested on the floor where the man had stood, for he had turned away, seeming to glide back the way he'd come, the sound of smacking lips echoing audibly back to the two companions.

"Ahem!" resounded Volken , as if by a loud clearing of his throat. Mokkania halted and turned to regard him; the handle-stick of the lollipop protruding vulgarly from his mouth. Another awkward silence attended this, as the man could not speak on account of his mouthful.

Nor did he immediately reach a hand to free his mouth, but stubbornly enjoyed the sweet taste at the cost of bringing further awkwardness to an already awkward situation.

"He's looks like a really dumb child," Volken reflected, but of course didn't dare say in the face of a conjuror so obvious and deadly.

"Why do you hate the world Mokkania?" he instead asked, which although not intentionally insulting, was still a question nothing less than bold.

In response to this, Mokkania only continued to stand and stare impassively at the companions, a quizzically blank look on his face, a look that suggested either idiocy or boredom.

"You once fought to save everything. How can you condemn your own past and all of us that are here now?" Volken asked and the asking was a bit hotter and angrier than he'd intended, as Mokkania's obstinate indifference had provoked the righteous man beyond fear of his own life.

Nor could such anger be spoken of as anything less than predictable in the man; it was precisely because of Volken's crusadership-zealotry that he had risen high in the favor of former Director Fhotona. And that of course, made him a man willing to pursue righteousness even against seemingly impossible odds. Even against the likes of someone like Mokkania, whose power was said to rival even the virtuoso abilities of Hamyuts Meseta, the acting Director who ruled Bantorra Library under its current ruthless regime…

Slowly then, and with fingers weighted by the purpose, Mokkania took the lollipop from his mouth, but held it nonetheless ready to hand. "You're a goodly man aren't you Volken? Perhaps if you can hold onto that goodness of purpose, you'll somehow avoid becoming as lonely and self-condemned as I am…" Mokkania finally answered, though turning away once more to depart to his chamber.

Somehow that answer had chilled the anger of Volken down to an ember of its mighty passion, and in his wisdom, he really thought it best to let the lonely man go his own way, but there was one last thing he had to say to this mysterious, tragic shell of a hero.

"Will you leave before thanking Noloty for the lollipop you took from her?" he dared ask, and both Noloty and Mokkania returned matching looks of shock and disbelief in the face of Volken's surprising question.

At which their collective surprise met with a fearfully impassive and calm expression that hardly wavered or acknowledged that their surprise held any relevance whatsoever. But it was too casual for mere madness, Mokkania noted. It was thus with a beaming smile he acquiesced: Facing Noloty, he bends slightly at the waist in a curt little bow, and says, "My thanks for the candy. I hope you have a really wonderful day. Sayonara for now."

As he was walking away, he heard the sound of muffled giggling as Noloty mostly failed to restrain a bout of amazed laughter, and he heard Volken urging that they needed to hurry to the end of their mission before Hamyuts came looking for them.

~~~O~~~

Upon re-entering his chamber a little thereafter, Mokkania threw the now candy-less stick inside the wastebasket beside his door. The wastebasket reflexively reminded him of Argax; all too often he'd thought of using that particular war machine, a magical cup that had the power of erasing its user's memories according to their wishes.

And so for perhaps the millionth time he wondered why he never felt like using it. Even as the memories of war and suffering continuously gnawed the edges of his admittedly sick mind, he rather felt tempted to pace roundabout the walls again. This temptation to pace was avoided only by means of a far worse temptation that occurred to Mokkania: the story book.

Going over to his bed, he got the book out from under his pillow and gathered up his stuffed animals. He was going to read to them the story of The Most Wonderful and Perfect Forest, a place where all the animals could talk and learn from one another the Way to the Most Perfect Future.

It made him think of his encounter with Volken that day, and so with hope he began, "Mr. Bear was the most fearsome in all the forest. He was always bullying Mr. Fox. Then one day, Mr. Bear ordered Mr. Fox to gather him some acorns, and so, he ran into Mr. Squirrel. He asked, 'Can you give me some acorns?' And then he heard voices. The ants were calling out to him, "We ants are the weakest and smallest in all the forest. So we always work together, to gather food. Because we are not strong, we must help each other.' Seeing the ants help each other, Mr. Fox apologized to Mr. Squirrel. After he saw the ants himself, Mr. Bear apologized to Mr. Fox. And so together, they were able to live in the forest happily ever…"

Suddenly, however, the chamber's door crashed violently open as Hamyuts Meseta brought an abrupt close to story hour.

Upon hearing their earlier reports, Hamyuts had hastefully come to the pejorative decision that Mokkania had picked on her subordinates earlier, especially Noloty. Of course, what this really meant was that she wanted a good fight.

As she looked upon Mokkania, his face suddenly pale and flushed with anger at being rudely intruded upon, she honestly believed she'd find a worthy opponent this day.

"Ah! Mokkania! I'm here to play with you too! Now get up and dance before I kill you on your bed there. That a boy!" she gleefully encouraged as the man rose to stand.

"This is what I want!" she further exhorted, "An opponent strong enough to kill me!"

Mokkania fixed her with a hard, deathly look but stood rigidly still. His eyes would've been appropriate for the stand-off that perhaps Hamyuts would've welcomed, but his hands were down at his sides, and his voracious ants were nowhere to be seen.

After another moment or two of locking stares, Hamyuts understood clearly that this powerful and deadly man had refused to fight.

Disappointed, she broke the staring contest, and looking roundabout the chamber she saw his stuffed animals gathered in a heap, still awaiting the end of the story.

"What a dumb child," she huffed, and embittered over that disappointment, she turned and left; a grand anticipation of violent exhilaration coming to nothing.

'Yes,' thought Mokkania, 'How dumb these recurrent things are. That's why I am learning to destroy them too.'

* * *

A.N. A few things worth mentioning

1.) In the anime, Mokkania is seen strolling the passageways of the labyrinth, and I thought to myself, "Why not also his own chamber?" His personality has been described as a nest of black ants, a well of conflicting desires, and pacing, I think, is one way to manifest this. It's not Bantorra lore but seems feasible enough because of it.

2.) I don't know if Noloty's shorts are really made of polyster or not. That's nothing more than a slightly educated guess on my part.

3.) The story of the Forest came verbatim from the anime. The title of said story is my own.

4.) Although an admittedly minor character, there is something about his sad, creepy behavior that inspires the Nighmare Before Christmas in me.


End file.
